Nightmare
by D the Fox
Summary: A short look into the week leading up to a young boy's birthday party. He is tormented by nightmares and his brother, but he has only one friend. Spoilers for Five Nights at Freddy's 4. Do not read if you don't want the game's ending revealed.
1. Nighmaress

**Nightmare**

-The cries of the young boy echoed throughout the halls. He laid on the bed, screaming incomprehensive anguish, asleep. In his arms, he hugged a small golden-bodied teddy bear. He hugged the bear tighter and grew quiet. A soft smile appeared on his lips.

* * *

-The child walked beside his friend, blissfully unaware of where they were going. A moment, a beat. He looked up at the golden bear, forgetting the things that had been done to him.

-"You are my friend," the boy said, "You are all my friends. My only friends."

- _"It's alright,"_ he thought, _"I don't need anyone else. I have you."_

-He sat on the ground, holding the bear in his hands.

-"You'll never hurt me," he told the bear, "That's why you're my friend. Because you'll never hurt me."

* * *

-Sitting in his room. On his bed sat the little Fredbear doll. The other four stood in the small corner. Foxy was missing his head. His brother had taken it.

-A click. The door.

-He ran to it.

-"He's locked you in your room again." said the Fredbear doll.

-No, he thought, please no not again no please. He tried the door. Fredbear was right.

-He felt himself start to cry. No no please no please please please let me out please no please.

-Pressing his eyes shut, he felt the room suddenly grow smaller, more crowded. Occupied. The haunts of his nightmares. The things that looked like his friends. That lied to him. That were not his friends. No no please no not them no.

-Please please no.

* * *

-The boy felt nothing.

-He sat on the cold hospital bed and felt nothing. No fear, no pain, no joy. The Fredbear doll on the nightstand looked at him with its warm comforting eyes, but remained silent.

-The IV drip next to the bed slowly emptied, percolating through the rubber hoses that were stuck into his arm.

-"Fredbear?" he asked, looking at the doll.

-The doll said nothing.

* * *

-Click. The door was open. Free. Into the next room. Hello? No one. His parents' room. A dismembered Toy Foxy, otherwise empty. The living room. Door locked. Nobody home. They left him at home. Alone. A noise.

-Where?

-He looked to Fredbear, hopefully. The bear shrugged. No clue. Hello? Another noise. The television set. The noise again.

-Cautious, he tip-toed closer.

-Hump! The head of Foxy leapt at him. No no please no please. His brother laughing. Him on the floor crying.

-His nightmares drawing closer.

* * *

-Walking. A sound. Breathing. The door. Open. Light flashes. Closed. Safe. His nightmares safely drew away.

* * *

-Laughing. Children playing. Balloons everywhere. Presents. Sick smells of cooking burning pizza. The boy crying.

-"He left you. He knows you hate it here. If you hurry you can reach the door."

-Fredbear who was his friend. Fredbear. His friend-bear. They are his friends. The others are not.

-"You have to get up."

-Please Fredbear help me help me leave help me I wanna go home please Fredbear please.

-He crawled to his knees, then stood up. The entire restaurant to his left. A large red door to his right.

-"No not that way! Don't you remember what you saw?"

-He went the other wa. Felt something. Looked up. The 'not-his-friend Fredbear.' Running the other way. Deeper into the restaurant.

-"If you can just sneek past them-" Fredbear interrupted by the not-his-friend-Fredbear.

-Curled up. On the floor. Crying.

-His nightmares drew closer still.

* * *

-"Why am I afraid?" the boy asked his friend.

-Fredbear contemplated the question. Instead of answering, he drew the boy into a deep hug.

-Then, "As long as I am here, you don't need to be afraid."

-"Thank you," the boy replied.

* * *

-Dark. Afraid. Locked into a room again, this time not his own. Heads, body parts, metal endoskeletons. Storage.

-Help please help me I want out I wanna go home please HELP ME HELP ME I WANNA GO HOME please please please. The boy is crying.

-The door opens. Someone heard him. He runs out before he can see what his rescuer looks like. Out of the storage room.

-A girl playing with her spring Bonnie toy. Out of the restaurant. Teenage boys laughing at him for crying in the restaurant because he is the only one afraid. Running home. A boy with balloons by the road tells him that he has to go to his party. More running. Tears trailing behind him. Fredbear-friendbear follows. Home. The door's unlocked. Living room. Hallway. Bedroom. He runs to his bed, to the comfort of his friend.

-Jump!

-Foxy. Brother laughing. Him curling on the floor crying. He has nowhere to go. Nowhere is safe. He has nowhere to run.

-No place is safe anymore.

-His nightmares are almost upon him.

* * *

-Nothing. The boy hears nothing. He curls up on the metal bed and tries to cry, but cannot. He looks at his friends, all of them sitting in their corner. They do not say anything and neither does he.

-It is silent.

-He is safe.

* * *

-The restaurant. His brother. His brother's friends. They have taken his friends and wear them lie masks.

-It is the boy's party. He is crying. The masks scare him. The ones that look likes his friends but are not his friends scare him.

-Brother is laughing while the boy cries. Brother's friends laugh. "Come on, little man, let's get a closer look."

-He is picked up by his brother. He cannot escape. He is carried to the stage where he sees them singing. Them. His nightmares. Them.

-"Hey guys, I think he wants to give Fredbear a kiss."

-Brother laughs. So do brother's friends. He is lifted up. They laugh. His is forced onto his nightmare. Laughing. His head is forced into Fredbear's mouth. Nightmare Fredbear-not-his-friendbear's mouth.

-The boy cries and struggles. Afraid. Afraid. Crying.

-No please no please please no no no please no please help me no please let me out please please let me out please no please help me please please help me help me please no please help me help me HELP ME!

-Nightmare's jaws lock. The boy struggles to be free. The jaws lock together. The boy no longer feels it. Brother stops laughing. The boy no longer feels anything.

* * *

-His friends. He is with his friends. He is no longer crying. He doesn't feel it, but he knows he is happy.

-His brothers voice.

-"Can you hear me? I don't know if you can hear me."

-A beat, a pause.

-"... I'm sorry."

-Fredbear his Friendbear speaks:

-"You're broken."

-Foxy fades away.

-"We are still your friends."

-Chica fades away.

-"Do you still believe that?"

-Bonnie fades away.

-"I'm still here."

-Freddy fades away.

-"I will put you back together."

-Fredbear fades away.

-Crying, but not sad, the boy fades away.


	2. Home

**Interesting fact. I had originally had no intentions of writing a sequel, or continuation of _Nightmares,_ but found that literally every time I went to write something, it would always come out as a story about the brother and his guilt. This chapter mainly deals with a delightful theory of mine, wherein the gameplay of _FNaF4_ is actually the brother dealing with insanity after breaking his younger brother. Somewhat inspired by the NWTB songs _Nightmare_ and _Home_.**

 **Home**

Looking down upon his sleeping brother, the boy felt sudden pain. This was all his fault. All his fault. Why had he done it? Why had he played that awful trick? Why? Why? Why?

In some way, he'd hated his brother. Hated the way he cried and cowered in that restaurant. Why had his brother been so afraid of that place? It made no sense! Nothing in that place could hurt him! Or so one would think. But recently, it had been proven otherwise. Because he had hated the way his brother cowered and feared, he had deemed it necessary to prove otherwise.

But then it had happened.

His trick had proven otherwise.

Distinctly in his memory was the vivid detail of him lifting his brother into the air. His brother crying. Him sliding his brother into the animatronic. His voice echoing in his head: "I think he wanted to give Fredbear a kiss." Constantly, he would hear his own voice, looped over and over in that ruthless taunt of his. I think he wants to give Fredbear a kiss.

Then, the bear bit.

And everything went quiet. Silent. To him, the world was mute, and he was deaf. His brother was limp in Fredbear's mouth.

No one said anything.

His memories were blurred and faded. The moments that followed. THe ambulance. The hospital. The long night in that hospital where he relived those last moments over and over.

His parents had said nothing and that was worse. He would've taken any punishment, happily. It would've distracted him, and he would've loved that distraction.

Welcomed it.

But there had been nothing. Only the sad, drawn and distant look in their eyes as they looked upon the broken form of their youngest son. The look they gave their oldest was woese.

It was a look of nothingness. A torn, anguished look of nothingness.

The look he gave himself was of hatred. The look he gave his brother was tortured forgiveness, a look of apologetic hope.

"Can you hear me?" he said, the room echoing with the whine of several life support systems. The two brothers were alone, one of them asleep, the other painfully awake. "I don't know if you can hear me."

He looked at the golden plush bear in his sleeping brother's arms. The bera left him with a feeling of combined sadness, hatred, and fear. That bear had been his brother's only friend and, in one cruel moment, he had broken him. The bear was a figure that represented to him now more things than he could even begin to comprehend.

The monitors started to slow.

"I'm sorry," he said, tears streaming down his face.

The monitors reached a lone, flat, toneless moan.

* * *

Home, from that day, grew to haunt him.

Suddenly, he was no longer alone on those nights. After his brother died, he had felt haunted. Things in his house, in the halls, in the rooms. Haunting, laughing, taunting him.

He clutched tightly to his chest the bear which had belonged to his now deceased brother. In one hand, the Fredbear doll, in the other, a flashlight.

Stipping, stapping, stepping, running.

This was his first night after his brother had died. This was a night where he perceived himself to be dreaming. Where he perceived himself to be lost in a nightmare.

But he lived through it.

He had stayed awake, clutching the flashlight and the Fredbear until he could see sunlight and feel the weight of his nightmare leave him and he was able to sleep.

But that was only the first night. During the second night, the nightmares had started teasing him. He would hear them laugh, creep towards the door, run away.

Then another night. And another. And the brother feared they were breaking his mind. He knew the nightmares weren't real. Knew they couldn't be real. Knew he would soon be going crazy, that one night he would mess up and they would come in and his nightmares would consume hi,. Leave his empty and mangled. And broken.

He knew he couldn't tell anyone. No one would believe that he was being haunted by figments of his imagination. A psychologist would tell him that he was hallucinating his repressed guilt at losing his younger brother.

And oh how he desperately wished that were true! But he knew somehow that it was not. Somehow, defying all known laws of physics, reality, and sanity, his nightmares were real. Creatures that were twisted nightmare aberrations of the Freddy Fazbear Friends walked his halls late at night, stalking and playing with him.

In his mind, he knew they had to be real. Because he feared the Nightmare Friends. He had not feared the Fazbear Friends, only his brother had. But he feared these abominations. Which could only mean that they were real.

That was the rationalization he relied on, anyway.

The next night, he tried to sleep through those noises, those sounds. Had tried, but jerked awake with nightmarish visions of descending madness. Of his ascending further away from reality. Of him transcending the world itself. And it forced him awake.

"They're playing with me," he told Fredbear, "They know what I did any they're playing with me."

And for the first time in his life, Fredbear answered.

"They love to play," said Fredbear, "They love to watch you play. Play nicely, play fairly, don't break the rules."

"What happens if I break the rules?" the brother asked.

"Then you lose," Fredbear laughed, a cheerful laugh that he suddenly recognized as his brother's. It was a wonderful sound, one that made people smile. If only people had heard him laughing. Instead, he only cried. Maybe things would have been different. "You lose, and game over."

Only when the night ended and he was able to sleep did he realize that he had been talking to a doll.

Another night. And another.

The eighth night, he felt something crack in his mind. A new Nightmare appeared, this one a pitch-nightmare black. A twisted version of Fredbear. A grizzly black abomination.

Freddy's new Nightmare. Laughing. Appearing with impossible speed. At the door. On the bed. In the closet.

He felt darkness, only darkness, for the Nightmare. Running across the room, he pushed the door open. Flashed the light, listened, closed the door, checked the bed. The other door. Listen. Flash. Close door.

Bed closet door bed door closet. Can't lock the door, against the rules. Must play fair. Can't ost. Gotta play nicely.

No no no no no. On the bed. Nightmare. In the closet. Nightmare. At the doors. Nightmare. Moving with incredible speed. Nightmare.

No no no. Open door. No. Check bed. No. Listen. No. No one nothing no one nothing only a nightmare only a nightmare only a nightmare.

He messed up. He didn't listen at the door and the Nightmare came in. No no no please Fredbear help me no no it's only a nightmare I'll wake up I'll wake up i'llwakeupi'llwakeup no no please.

* * *

The brother cried. Tears streaked down his face. Poured down in a great deluge. Fredbear looked at him and smiled the warm smile h had given the younger brother only a handful of weeks before.

Nightmare had gotten him. In his hand, the brother held something too small for Fredbear to see. But Fredbear knew. Fredbear always knew.

In the brother's hand, a small piece of metal, an inch long. The trapezoidal blade of a box cutter, with one sharpened edge. He held it to his forearm, considered it, then moved it to his inner wrist.

* * *

The Puppet was born that day.

* * *

 **The End.**


End file.
